


Brake Lines

by swampslip



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Car Accidents, Gangs, Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Nightmares, Rival Gangs AU, Semi-Public Sex, Street Racing, lenny and sean are here for a moment specifically for you cody, this au is honestly massive and i was trying to condense it, this is less about street racing than i intended, we could talk about macsummers in this au we really could they're adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:47:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28853775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swampslip/pseuds/swampslip
Summary: “... You good?” Arthur asks, tilting his head to try and meet John’s eyes and John realizes he’s ducked his head, his hair and hood hiding his face.John looks up the street they’re supposed to be flying down in just a half-hour or so and his stomach flips again.He slowly shakes his head and Arthur steps closer, leaning in to speak very quietly.“You’re here for the money, right?” Arthur whispers, “Drop out.”“What?” John asks hoarsely, lifting his head sharply, “I can’t- I need the-”“You know I’m gonna win,” Arthur whispers, “Let me win, then come back with me to Hosea’s. Hear him out and I’ll give you the money.”“I don’t…” John breathes in slowly and swallows, “There’s already a bullseye on my back.”“Well, let us make it harder to hit.”
Relationships: John Marston/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 19
Kudos: 51





	Brake Lines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [postalcoast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/postalcoast/gifts).



> very late pinch hit for morston secret santa ahhh oh my god  
> i hope you like this cody i saw street racing for the modern au thing and my brain took it and ran dfjbjhb

There was nowhere else around like the backroads of Blackwater and the atmosphere that came with it. 

John remembers his first time sneaking out to watch the races, the neon under-carriage lights, the smell of hot rubber, and the sound of revving engines. 

He’s been hooked on it for years, even before he started racing. 

They’re set far enough from the city-central that it doesn’t immediately tip-off, but there’s still a wild thrill when a whisper of a siren is heard across the fields between them and downtown. 

John leans against the driver door of his car as he zips up his boots, shoving his hair back and looking over the crowds and cars. 

It’s an elimination tournament, 1v1, win or die. 

And Arthur Morgan’s racing, so John doesn’t have his hopes all that high. 

But there’s a hefty cash prize for the winner, and he could really use the money. 

John thumps the heel of his boot against the ground a couple times to settle his foot into the leather. 

It’s been two months since he got out of Dutch’s gang but it’s felt like an age, how much he’s been watching his own back, dragging through each day. 

Maybe coming here tonight wasn’t the best idea, of all the places where he’s got a higher chance of running into one of Dutch’s Sons, this might be the highest. 

John’s glad he layered a hoodie under his leather jacket, when he tugs it over his head and manages to at least somewhat hide his scars as he leaves his car in the lineup and makes his way over to the sign-up ‘table’. 

It’s less of a table, more just a couple of ‘judges’ sitting in the bed of an old nissan with a clipboard and a cashbox. 

At least John recognizes them, can hopefully persuade them to place him later in the race. 

The fewer people he has to race, the better. 

“Scarface!” Sean greets him with a shit-eating grin, gesturing him closer when John pauses and rolls his eyes, “Hey, mate, good to see you racin’ again!”

“Yeah,” John says quietly, looks at Lenny and dips his head in greeting. 

“Well, someone’s sour tonight,” Sean huffs, “Ain’t seen you ‘round in months, and all I get is a ‘yeah’.”

“Sean,” Lenny huffs and rolls his eyes, holding the clipboard out to John and elbowing Sean with his other arm, “Who’s to say he even wanted to see you.”

“You wound me, Summers.”

“Sorry, Sean,” John mutters, not wanting either of the judges to hold him in a bad light when there are four months of rent on the line, “Just a bit…”

John makes a vague gesture at his scars because he knows it’ll buy him a little sympathy. 

For as grating as Sean can be, he’s a soft-hearted man and they all know it. 

“You haven’t raced since the accident, right?” Lenny asks quietly and accepts the clipboard with John’s info written in, “You… You sure you’re good?”

John’s tongue peeks out to mess with the scar on his bottom lip then he grimaces and nods. 

“I’m fine,” John says, and it feels like the millionth time in the last six months. 

Lenny just studies him for a moment and Sean looks between the younger men slowly. 

“You’re sixth,” Lenny says after a few solid seconds of silence, “Out of eight. Morgan’s first, of course.”

“Of course,” John huffs, “Puttin’ him in any later would be plain unfair.”

“If Mister Matthews wasn’t such a scary fella,” Sean leans in and gestures at the clipboard, “I’d say just ban him entirely, honest, that man’s got somethin’ unnatural in him, how good he is.”

John shakes his head and tenses when he feels someone standing behind him. 

“You talkin’ tough again, Sean?” Arthur Morgan asks with a wicked amusement in his voice, “How ‘bout you hop ‘outta that bed and into a driver seat for once.”

John sidesteps and turns to look at Arthur. 

He watches the older man’s eyes move over his face to look at his scars. 

“Marston,” Arthur says quietly, “Surprised to see you here. Thought you skipped town.”

“I didn’t go that far,” John mutters.

“Hm…” Arthur glances at Lenny and Sean who are politely pretending not to listen, then nods back the way he came, towards their cars, “Here, walk with me.”

“Why?” John asks slowly only to bristle when Arthur rolls his eyes and slings an arm around John’s shoulders. 

Lenny and Sean immediately speaking in hushed tones as soon as they’re a few yards away, Arthur leading him along without much choice. 

“How you been?” Arthur asks and John’s a bit surprised by the genuine interest in the older man’s voice. 

“Fine.”

“Well… You know we got a bit of, hm… History,” Arthur says, lowering his voice as they pass some of the other drivers, “Between your gang n’ mine.”

“... I ain’t with them no more.”

“I heard.”

“So why you bringin’ back up all this ‘y’all and us’ shit, Morgan?” John mutters darkly, barely resisting the urge to shrug off Arthur’s arm. 

“I heard ‘cause Hosea heard,” Arthur says slowly, “And he was, let’s say ‘unsettled’ by you bein’ kicked out.”

“... You know I left.”

“Yep.”

“So, you know I wasn’t exactly ‘kicked out’.”

“... Yeah,” Arthur sighs and they stop in front of John’s car and Arthur finally lets him go, “But Hosea wanted you to know, there’s a place for you, if you want.”

John squints at him, taking the opportunity to put some space between them. 

“You said you wasn’t thinkin’ you’d see me here.”

“Maybe I was lyin’.”

“... But that ain’t a lie? That offer?” John asks quietly, trying not to let any emotion filter into his voice given that he’s not even sure what he’s feeling. 

“No, it ain’t,” Arthur says just as quietly, “I’m just passin’ on the offer.”

John feels his stomach turning and he thinks about everything that’s gone down. 

Dutch pushing for more and more money, harder jobs, higher quotas, looser morals. 

How he got sidelined, the accident, how he started feeling more and more like a limping deer in a den of hungry, desperate wolves. 

How leaving was one of the hardest and easiest things he’s done in his whole life, and how he’s struggled to keep his head above the water since. 

“Okay,” John says weakly.

“... You good?” Arthur asks, tilting his head to try and meet John’s eyes and John realizes he’s ducked his head, his hair and hood hiding his face.

John looks up the street they’re supposed to be flying down in just a half-hour or so and his stomach flips again. 

He slowly shakes his head and Arthur steps closer, leaning in to speak very quietly. 

“You’re here for the money, right?” Arthur whispers, “Drop out.”

“What?” John asks hoarsely, lifting his head sharply, “I can’t- I need the-”

“You know I’m gonna win,” Arthur whispers, “Let me win, then come back with me to Hosea’s. Hear him out and I’ll give you the money.”

“I don’t…” John breathes in slowly and swallows, “There’s already a bullseye on my back.”

“Well, let us make it harder to hit.”

\--

John sits in his car in the parking lot of a McDonald’s not too far from the race, chewing the side of his thumb and staring absently at his steering wheel as he waits. 

Lenny had been understanding and Sean had surprisingly held his tongue when John came back over just to pull his name right back out of the race. 

And Arthur had smiled at them like they haven't been in rival gangs for the last decade. 

He's met Hosea a couple times, when things were calmer and Dutch wasn't so vicious. 

Hosea never really liked that Dutch brought him in so young, and Dutch always got defensive over it. 

John flinches when there's a knock on the passenger window and he looks over to see Arthur standing there. 

John pushes the unlock button in the center console and Arthur climbs in, sitting in the passenger seat like it's completely normal, buckling himself in and closing the door. 

"What?" John asks breathily. 

"I won," Arthur says and flashes the wad of cash from the pocket inside the breast of his leather bomber, then tucking it back, "Now we go to Hosea's."

"That was fast," John says, a little hoarse as he shoves off his hood and sits up.

"Well," Arthur shrugs, "No point in draggin' it out." 

"What 'bout your car?" 

"Lettin' Lenny drive it home."

John makes a rough sound of surprise. 

"Since when is he with y'all?" 

"Oh," Arthur makes a vague gesture, "'Bout a year."

"... I didn't know that."

"Yep. Ain't that handy?" Arthur grins conspiratorially, "He's unassumin'."

John just shakes his head in disbelief.

They both sit in silence for a moment and Arthur gestures towards the road. 

"You wanna… Y'know, start the car?" 

John swallows and looks up at the McDonald's then drops his gaze to his lap and nods. 

He'll be able to buy some groceries when Arthur gives him that cash. 

John starts the car and straightens up, hand on the gear shift. 

Arthur's hand covers his, pausing him. 

"When's the last time you ate?" Arthur asks quietly. 

John presses his lips together and shrugs. 

Arthur huffs loudly and pulls his hand back to pull out a twenty, shoving it at John and gesturing at the McDonald's. 

"Drive-thru," Arthur mutters, "Get me a coke n' one of them pies."

\--

John holds the bagged mess of nuggets and fries between his legs as he drives with Arthur's instruction to the Matthews home. 

It's almost an hour outside the city, dark as shit with no street lights and just his headlights reflecting the occasional signage. 

Tall oaks bracket either side of the road with heavy curtains of moss hanging down. 

They pass a 'no trespassing' sign riddled with bullet holes and John huffs softly. 

"Real welcomin' place."

"Ha-Ha," Arthur rolls his eyes and fidgets with the radio and only then does John realize it's been off the entire drive. 

"I gotta let 'em know there's a strange car comin' in," Arthur mumbles and pulls out his phone. 

"How far is it?"

"Uh… Another couple minutes to the gate, then _another_ couple minutes to the house."

"... Why's he gotta be so mysterious?" John huffs and gestures widely with a cold fry, "The hell kinda horror movie did this place come from."

"You scared?" Arthur teases as he slides his phone back into his pocket and rolls down the passenger window. 

John just grumbles quietly when he can't bring himself to deny it. 

\--

Arthur kicks off his boots and sets them on a rack so John follows suit, even though it makes him anxious knowing it might take longer for him to leave if need be. 

But Arthur’s calm and soft and John doesn’t feel scared, really. 

The floor is old but freshly polished, his socks slipping just a bit as he shuffles behind Arthur, arms crossed and shoulders tight. 

“You live here?” John whispers as they start up a steep, narrow staircase. 

“Have since I was a teen.”

“Don’t you find it creepy?” John glances down over the railing then up at Arthur as the older man waits for him, “This old place?”

“I mean, it is haunted,” Arthur says and John stops on the top stair, blinking up at him. 

Then Arthur rolls his eyes and starts down the hallway, John cursing him out quietly and hurrying to follow. 

\--

Hosea’s older than he remembers. 

And obviously, it’s been a few years, but the man looks… Old, older than Dutch. 

Worn. 

Hair white and eyes tired, but kind when they look at John and the older man smiles, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. 

John sits roughly, feeling Arthur’s presence hovering behind him. 

“Hello John,” Hosea says softly, “You’re looking much better.”

“... What?” John asks quietly, brows furrowing.

He’s pretty sure he looks worse, actually. 

“Than I last saw you,” Hosea goes on, gesturing widely at John, “You were a sight, in the hospital.”

“Oh… I… I don’t remember much of that,” John admits and his hand twitches up to rub his scars but he quickly re-crosses his arm, “Sorry.”

“No worries.”

John taps his socked toes in quick succession on the floor and glances around the office, then settles his dark eyes back on Hosea, questioning. 

“Well, John… We heard you were in a bit of a bind, after you left Dutch,” Hosea says slowly, “I just wanted to offer assistance, if you’ll allow it.”

“What does ‘assistance’ mean?” John asks, a bit sharp, sitting up straighter, “‘Cause if it’s the same brand as Dutch’s ‘as long as you’re loyal’ I ain’t sure I-”

“It is conditional, yes, but I don’t want your soul,” Hosea says firmly, “Don’t forget that I’ve known Dutch much longer than you.”

John’s cowed a bit by Hosea’s intensity, sitting back in the armchair. 

“I’d ask that you help with jobs, mostly with Arthur, and that you, of course, maintain discretion. In return, you’ll get housing, here, and your share of pay from any work you do,” Hosea pauses, looks down at the desk, up at Arthur over John’s head, “Protection.”

John feels very exposed even without Hosea’s eyes on him. 

“Okay,” John says quietly. 

Hosea looks back at him, blinking once and sitting back as well. 

“That’s it?” Hosea says then laughs softly, “My, John, I was already thinking out all the bribery it’d take-”

“You know somethin’,” John says, “‘Bout the accident.”

“I do.”

“I… I don’t even know if I wanna know,” John closes his eyes for a second and shakes his head, “I appreciate the offer. I accept.”

“You know you’re gonna get the money whether you join us or not, right?” Arthur asks quietly from behind him, “That wasn’t conditional.”

“I… S’food part of livin’ here?” John tries not to let his voice get thick with every emotion he’s feeling as he opens his eyes, frowns at Hosea. 

“... It is,” Hosea says slowly, “The fridge is kept stocked, there will always be a place for you at the dinner table.”

“Then I don’t really need the money.”

“You could fix Old Boy,” Arthur says quietly, “I mean, if you wanna race again.”

John shakes his head silently then pushes up from the chair, looking back at Arthur, then between the older men. 

“So… What now?”

“Well… It’s quite late, you’re welcome to spend the night here and even pick a room if you’d like.”

“Here,” Arthur nods at the door, “I’ll show him.”

Arthur moves to the door and opens it back up but John hesitates. 

“... Thank you,” John whispers. 

“My pleasure,” Hosea says with a gentle smile, waving towards the door, “Go on, you look close to falling asleep on your feet, son, go rest.”

\--

John’s quieter than he remembers. 

Arthur keeps feeling like he has to look over his shoulder just to check that the younger man is still following him as he leads them through the house. 

“There’s uh… Two rooms upstairs, at the very end, one’s right next to mine n’ shares a big bathroom, the other’s further down and has a ‘powder room’, then there’s another two downstairs near the kitchen but I wouldn’t recommend them, honest. It can get a bit rowdy.”

“The hell’s a powder room?” John mumbles and Arthur comes to a stop in front of a door with a horseshoe nailed into it. 

“S’just a toilet n’ sink.”

“And you're willingly offerin' sharin' yours?"

\--

Despite how tired he feels, John can't sleep. 

The house is too quiet and too loud at the same time, no one around for miles but the house creaks and settles and critters move in the trees outside. 

John gets up stiffly from the bed, throwing the blanket around his shoulders as he heads through the hallway. 

Luckily the moon is full and high, pale light streaming in through the windows, just enough that John can make his way downstairs to the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water and staring out the window over the sink into the woods. 

He's not sure how long he's standing there, only half-awake, when he hears his name being called, soft and rough. 

John turns around to see Arthur in the doorway to the kitchen, shirtless, in just flannel pajama pants, frowning and rubbing his eyes. 

"Why you up?" Arthur asks through a yawn. 

"... Can't sleep."

"Yeah, I figured," Arthur rolls his eyes and leans against the doorframe, "You alright?"

"Nightmares," John gestures at his face and he's expecting Arthur to drop it because everyone else seemed to immediately move to drop the conversation the few times he's brought it up. 

"Oh… S'it still hurt?" Arthur asks quietly, "Or your leg? Noticed you're favorin' it." 

"... Yes," John says quietly, his guard rising quickly, having to admit this weakness. 

Arthur seems to notice John's pulling away, straightening up and gesturing behind him. 

"You wanna watch somethin' or try n' go back to sleep?"

\--

They end up on opposite sides of a plush couch, John curling up tightly and barely paying attention to what Arthur's put on. 

"You do look better,” Arthur says quietly, “Healed real nice.”

John rolls his head to look at the older man, frowning and hugging the blanket tighter. 

“Does everybody remember me bein’ in the hospital except me?”

Arthur goes quiet for a long moment and John watches the older man’s expression pinch with indecision. 

“... I pulled you out,” Arthur says quietly, “At the race, when you wrecked Old Boy… I was the one who pulled you out.”

John blinks, stunned. 

He’d never even considered who had saved him except paramedics, vaguely remembering sirens and an oxygen mask being held to his bleeding face. 

This whole time he’d operated under the assumption that he’d been thrown fully through the windshield. 

“Oh,” John whispers hoarsely.

“... Yeah, so,” Arthur clears his throat awkwardly and lightly smiles, “You definitely look a lot better now.”

“... Thanks,” John whispers and squeezes the blanket in his hands then shakes his head to try and clear it, sitting up. 

“Nah… It’s…” Arthur frowns at the tv and reaches over to mute it, “I know we ain’t been the friendliest in the past, but no one deserves that, John. You were sabotaged.”

“Y’know, a lot of it,” John makes a vague gesture around his head, “Lot of it’s fuzzy. Been spendin’ a lot of nights trying to figure out how I could’ve fucked up that badly. Like I ain’t gone around that corner a hundred times.”

“I know.”

“Hosea…”

“I called him, immediately,” Arthur rubs at his face and looks over at John, “When I saw Bill n’ that Micah feller leavin’, instead of tryin’ to help.”

“... Oh.”

“Bit… Bit suspicious.”

“A bit?” John huffs and sits up, “I said there was a target on my back and… I meant ‘cause I left, but I suppose it’s been there longer than that.”

“Dutch is different,” Arthur says quietly, “Since he and Hosea split. That whole break-up was a mess but he… He’s different. In a bad way.”

John shrugs and looks up at the pictures around the entertainment room, eyes catching on one of a younger Arthur. 

“I remember you,” John says quietly, “When Dutch started lettin’ me work for him, n’ Hosea came over to yell at him for endangerin’ a kid… You were there.”

“I was,” Arthur huffs, “Hosea was furious, found it kinda funny. You were only a couple years younger than I was when I joined.”

“‘Unassumin’.”

“... Yep.”

“Those days are over for me I suppose,” John says wryly and gestures at his scars, “Now I gotta be menacin’.”

Arthur just laugh, low and easy and John finds himself blinking, chest warming. 

“You?” Arthur snickers, “Menacin’ as a cottontail.”

\--

Arthur helps him move his minimal possessions into his new room and their shared bathroom. 

He eats dinner with Hosea, Arthur, Lenny, Sean, Karen, Charles, and Tilly. 

It’s so wildly different then living in Dutch’s apartment complex. 

Where they were all comfortable… But alone. 

Most nights he ends up sitting on the couch, and a couple minutes later Arthur will come down and sit with him. 

Sometimes they talk, most of the time they don’t, but John’s grateful anyway to not be alone when his mind and heart are racing. 

He remembers being scared of Arthur, when he was a kid, the older man broad and mean-looking.

Now he relishes in getting Arthur to laugh, loves the way the older man’s easy and open with him like they’re old friends. 

For the first time in forever, John feels happy.

\--

“Hey,” Arthur says and pats his head as he walks behind him, “C’mon, go get dressed. We got a job.”

“A job?” John asks as he struggles up from the couch, looking at Arthur. 

“Yeah, a job,” Arthur smiles at him crookedly, “You remember how those work, right? Or you gone soft playin’ Brady Bunch?”

John stares then huffs in disbelief, pushing past Arthur to go up the stairs first. 

“What kind of job?” 

“Nothin’ big, makin’ a delivery.”

“What- Am I allowed to know anythin’?” John grumbles and walks into his room, rummaging through his dresser, “You hazin’ me?”

Arthur just snorts quietly. 

\--

The ‘delivery’ turns out to be a couple envelopes of money, delivered to three separate places around town. 

Each time, John’s instructed to stay in the car, and each time it makes him a little more frustrated. 

Then he’s sitting in Arthur’s car in front of a laundromat and the pop of a gunshot rings out, clear and sharp over the traffic. 

John blinks widely and is moving before he can make the decision. 

Hurrying into the laundromat only to find Arthur restraining a man from behind, a small pistol on the linoleum floor. 

“John,” Arthur says sharply, “Get back in the car.”

“The hell’s one of van der Linde’s kids doing here?” The man asks roughly, struggling against Arthur, who rolls his eyes and tightens his grip, moving the man over and slinging open one of the driers, pulling out a couple clothing items and starting to tie them around the man’s arms. 

“John,” Arthur says lowly, “Go.”

John shuffles in place then tries to look casual as he goes back out and gets into the passenger seat. 

A minute passes and he hears sirens a couple streets over. 

“Shit,” John mutters and stares at the door of the laundromat, waiting for it to open. 

It does, and Arthur comes out, looking unbothered. 

The older man walking up to his car and sliding inside, casually putting on his seatbelt and starting the engine. 

And John just stares. 

“You could go a little faster,” John says hoarsely. 

“Aw Johnny,” Arthur coos and rolls up his sleeves, “You should’ve told me this was your first time.”

John blinks widely at the older man and feels his face heating, quickly buckling himself in as Arthur pulls into traffic and starts weaving through. 

“The hell was that about?” John asks, watching the side mirror intensely, looking for lights. 

“Stupid ol’ drunk,” Arthur mutters, “We got a couple people who keep an ear out for us. He wasn’t happy with his pay any more.”

“And he shot at you?” John asks incredulously, heart skipping when the sirens are getting closer. 

“Stop worryin’,” Arthur says quietly, “Plates are fake, badges are covered. And no, he shot at the ceiling when I shoved his gun outta my damned face.”

John huffs quietly, keeps his eyes on the mirror as Arthur drives them further out of town, taking several sharp turns onto back roads. 

Then one left onto a road clearly marked ‘dead end’. 

“Uh… Arthur?”

“Have a lil’ faith, John.”

John makes a petulant face but diligently keeps his eyes on the road behind them. 

There’s a couple houses. 

The garage door on one starts to rise, John finally tearing his eyes away from the mirror when Arthur pulls them in before it’s fully up.

Then Arthur reaches up to the copious buttons on his visor and presses another one.

And they both watch the garage door closing through the back windshield.

Arthur opens his door and climbs out after cutting the engine and John follows, a little shaky. 

“Whose house?”

“S’empty,” Arthur says then shushes him, listening. 

John moves around to the front of the car and leans against it, next to Arthur. 

Arthur glances at him and smiles, sly. 

“You really are actin’ like this is your first time y’know.”

“Shut up,” John mutters, “Been a while.”

“Poor thing,” Arthur whispers sarcastically and John swallows. 

“So are we just waitin’ in here ‘til-?”

“I don’t have the keys,” Arthur nods at the door into the house, “So, yes, we’re just waiting in here.”

“For how long?”

Arthur shrugs and nudges him. 

“You sound like a lil’ kid, stop complainin’.”

“You didn’t tell me anythin’, let alone there was a chance of-”

“John,” Arthur says roughly then sighs, “This ain’t the norm. It was supposed to be an easy day, didn’t even need you but thought you might wanna get out.”

“... Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘’oh’,” Arthur says. 

John looks around the barren garage and his heart is still racing. 

“Just get back in,” Arthur says quietly and moves to do the same, “You never shoulda gotten out earlier.”

“I thought you were shot!” John protests as he circles around to slump into the passenger seat, brows furrowed, “Was I just supposed to stay and-”

“Yes,” Arthur says firmly, “‘Cause I told you to.”

John goes quiet and crosses his arms, resisting the urge to pull his legs up, holding himself tightly, frowning at the dashboard.

They’re both quiet for few minutes then Arthur sighs and reaches over, patting John’s knee. 

“You’re fine, John,” Arthur murmurs. 

\--

Arthur’s already on the couch when he comes down that night, sitting in the middle, instead of on one side. 

He looks up at John tiredly but doesn’t look like he’s going to move so John silently sits himself next to the older man. 

“Why you up?” John asks quietly. 

Arthur shrugs, leans back, looking at John but there’s something warm lurking in his gaze. 

“Still runnin’ on adrenaline or somethin’,” Arthur murmurs, “Takes me a while to calm down.”

“Oh.”

“You have another nightmare?” 

“No… Actually, kinda in the same boat,” John admits quietly, “All amped-up.”

Arthur hums quietly, then tilts his head back, looking up at the ceiling. 

“S’like bein’ blue-balled,” John jokes weakly, “All that build up but nothin’ really happened.”

Arthur’s quiet and John almost apologizes for being inappropriate.

“We could do somethin’ ‘bout that,” Arthur whispers, not looking at him. 

John swallows and blinks at the older man.

“If you want,” Arthur says and shrugs, “Don’t gotta.”

“What do you mean by ‘somethin’’,” John whispers. 

Arthur finally glances at him then looks around the dark living room before sliding his hand down to his crotch. 

John watches, shifting as Arthur’s hand disappears under his waistband and the older man makes a soft sound, stretching out a bit. 

“... You don’t exactly need me for this- Should I-?” John asks hoarsely, starting to move to stand and Arthur shakes his head, reaching out and tugging at John until the younger man sits back next to him. 

Their shoulders and thighs touching as Arthur spreads his legs, nods at John’s lap. 

“C’mon,” Arthur whispers. 

John fidgets then pulls one leg up to hide what they’re doing just in case anyone happens to come down this late at night. 

Slowly slipping his hand under his waistband and getting a grip around himself. 

John inhales sharply as Arthur’s free hand curls over his upper thigh and squeezes. 

It’s just above his scars, Arthur has to know that. 

“There you go,” Arthur murmurs, “Sound don’t really carry from here, if you gotta be a lil’ loud.”

“Ain’t loud,” John says breathily, squeezing his cock as he hardens. 

“Heard you the other night,” Arthur says, teasing, “You are.”

John’s hips twitch up and he presses his lips together to muffle himself. 

“S’okay,” Arthur whispers and John watches the outline of the older man’s hand moving under the fabric, “Wanna hear you.”

“Fuck,” John whispers and turns towards Arthur, shoving his pants down with one hand and stroking his cock with the other, looking up at Arthur. 

Watching the older man’s heated gaze drop down to look at John playing with himself. 

Arthur hums quietly and nudges his own pajama pants and boxers down, pulling his cock out and stroking himself in the open, his grip on John’s thigh tightening. 

John watches for a moment then closes his eyes tightly and presses his forehead to Arthur’s shoulder, a quiet, whiny sound slipping free. 

And Arthur huffs a laugh, making John’s face heat, trying to hide his burning cheeks. 

“Don’t hide,” Arthur says softly, “Think it’s cute.”

“Shut up,” John whispers before all the air leaves his lungs when Arthur’s fingertips brush the base of his cock, “Shit- Arthur-”

“This okay?”

John nods quickly and opens his eyes to look down at Arthur’s fingers wrapping around him, letting the older man nudge his hand away. 

Take over. 

Slower, in pace with his own strokes, gripping firm at the base and squeezing up, rubbing his thumb over the head of John’s cock as pre-come beads in the slit. 

“Arthur,” John whispers again, “D’you want me to-?”

“Yeah? If you want,” Arthur hums softly, “Go ‘head.”

John feels his gut tightening as he reaches over and fists Arthur’s cock, whispering a soft moan at the size of Arthur, the heat and hardness against his palm. 

“Shit,” John bites out and squeezes Arthur’s cock, whimpering when Arthur copies the movement. 

“Noisy lil’ thing,” Arthur whispers, “Been a while for this too?”

John just nods shakily and tries to get a good pace going for Arthur, feeling the older man’s other hand brushing his as Arthur plays with his balls and John curls up tighter against Arthur’s side. 

“Close,” John whispers desperately, “Really-”

Arthur makes a small sound of acknowledgment then tugs John’s pants back up, gripping the younger man’s cock and stroking firmly through the fabric. 

John falters at the feeling, lips parting and little, needy sounds escaping him as his hand stills on Arthur’s cock. 

Twitching lightly with every stroke, hips rutting into Arthur’s touch as he comes, spilling in his pajama pants. 

Arthur keeps stroking him through it, even as John presses closer and muffles whimpers into the older man’s shoulder. 

John feels too loose to move when his cock is still weakly twitching, breathing heavily and clinging to Arthur. 

Watching as the older man takes himself back into hand and strokes quick and firm, groaning softly, lifting his hips into his own touch. 

Cupping his hand over the head of his cock and turning his face to press his lips to John’s crown with a soft whisper of the younger man’s name as he comes.


End file.
